


Bully

by hawksbeard



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Character Study, Darkfic, Dissociation, Forced Masturbation, Forced Oral Sex, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Humiliation, M/M, Missing Scenes, Numbness, Rape, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Assault, Torture, Trauma, sodomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 20:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksbeard/pseuds/hawksbeard
Summary: Hector never really wanted to go back to dealing with street-level thugs, but with Tuco in jail, and no other Salamanca to take his place, Hector has no choice.This untimely demotion leads to Hector finally meeting one of Tuco's most trusted lieutenants, Ignacio Varga. Intelligent, capable, and respectful, Varga is certainly an asset to the Salamancas, but something about him rubs Hector the wrong way. When Hector realizes that Varga reminds him of a certain Chilean, he decides to teach him a lesson...Takes place before the events in BCS S03E06 "Off Brand" up to S03E10 "Lantern".





	1. The First Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> I fell in love with Nacho's character after watching the Nacho-centric arc in late Season 3 to early Season 4 of BCS. I thought other people would too, but I was disappointed to see that there's not a lot of fic about him on this site. So I decided to write my own. :D
> 
> \---
> 
> Something I find interesting about Hector and Nacho, is that while BCS/BB portrays Hector as violent and impulsive, it's never actually been shown that he's hurt Nacho physically, and all his torture of him is mental (In contrast to Gus and Nacho). 
> 
> While I was watching the opening scene of "Off Brand", I found it very interesting that Hector never told Nacho what he wanted him to do to Domingo, and yet Nacho knew exactly what to do. More curious is Nacho's reaction immediately after that scene. 
> 
> This is my attempt at filling in the blanks -- in the worst way possible.
> 
> As a side note, the characterizations in this fic were inspired by a bunch of interviews, podcasts with the cast and creators, and of course, the show itself, but mostly these two interviews in particular -- one from Nacho's actor (https://www.denofgeek.com/us/tv/better-call-saul/264804/better-call-saul-the-implications-of-nachos-big-night) and the other from Hector's actor (https://www.amc.com/shows/better-call-saul/talk/2017/05/better-call-saul-qa-mark-margolis-hector-salamanca)

It was the most unfortunate thing, Hector thinks, that his nephew had to go to jail. 

Hector, at this point in his life, should be worried about more important things. There’s Don Eladio, his ice cream business, and what’s going to happen now that the DEA has busted his front, and of course, the chicken man, and what he’s been up to.

At this point in his life, he’s earned some well-deserved luxuries. He could be in his place right now in Mexico, enjoying a nice, cold _cerveza_ as he’s tended to by a bunch of pretty _mamitas_. 

But Tuco is gone, and no other Salamanca can step in for him at such a short notice.

So now, Hector, old _Tio_ Hector with the bad knees and heart issues, who should by all means be semi-retired, is now stuck in this smelly restaurant, babysitting Tuco’s underling and overseeing a bunch of street-level punks.

“Nacho.” Another dealer has come in, and Hector, from behind his newspaper, observes.

“Carlos,” Varga responds.

 _Ignacio Varga_.

Amidst all the chaos of having the DEA poking around his business, it’s the first time Hector’s got a good look at Varga.

Hector had been putting it off, assuming that everything was alright. After all, they were hitting targets, and then some. But now that Hector is here, it doesn't seem quite so. 

Hector can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something in the way Varga’s doing things that doesn’t sit right with him.

It’s not that he’s unhappy with it – if he was, Varga wouldn’t even be sitting there now. Hector would have put a bullet in his head several hours ago. 

Business-wise, he’s good. Every dealer that has come in so far has reached their sales target. Business is fine, as Tuco said. Whatever it is that this kid’s doing, it’s good for the business at least. But with Tuco gone, something seems missing.

As Hector pores over his newspaper, he can’t help but eavesdrop into their conversation. 

“Had to hustle this week to meet numbers,” the dealer says, as Varga’s counting money. “Those new punks on Fifth are real stubborn. Thought we scared them off for good last week, but they keep coming back.”

“How many this week?”

“Just two. Messed them up real good,” the dealer recounts, a wolfish grin on his face. “Those guys ain’t never gonna be walking ever again.”

A pause, as Varga finishes counting the bills. “Leave it,” Varga replies. “They’re not coming back.”

“You sure? We got some intel on their HQ. We could, pay them a visit, you know, show them some real Salamanca muscle.”

Varga doesn’t respond. Instead, he bundles up the money, throws it in the bag.

“You’re good,” Varga says, nodding to the dealer.

“Alright.” The dealer stands up. “See you Nacho.” Then looking towards his direction, “Don Hector.”

Hector ignores him. Something about the exchange rubs him the wrong way. If this had been Tuco... If this had been Tuco, that dealer wouldn't even be bringing up that little story of his. One look, and those dealers would be pissing their pants. Tuco was the boss, and he made sure everyone knew it. Tuco had things under control, and Varga...

Hector could remember first seeing Varga in person, and being underwhelmed. 

Hector lets Tuco choose the company he keeps, and he hasn't really pried about who does which for Tuco. 

What he does know, is that when he first put Tuco in charge of local distribution in New Mexico, as much as Hector doesn't want to admit it, Tuco was terrible at it. Hector knew that his nephew had it in him, he was just young and couldn't control his enthusiasm sometimes. Hector spent a lot of time in those early days, going back and forth Albuquerque and Mexico, cleaning up after the messes his nephew made. 

Then one day, something seemingly changed in Tuco's operations. It was like an overnight transformation. Having to clean up after Tuco's messes, then suddenly money was flowing in like nobody's business, no more cleaning up. Which was a relief to Hector at least. 

Tuco hadn't told Hector in any explicit terms who'd been helping him, but from the last conversation he had with his nephew, from the way Tuco simply told him to "ask Nacho" when Hector asked him about operations, it was clear that a lot of the business operation side's successes were due to Varga.

Certainly, Hector had a lot of expectations for this guy -- the man who whipped his unruly, uncontrollable nephew to shape. 

And yet, when Hector first saw him. 

If Tuco was what Hector considered young, then Varga was practically a boy. Tuco wasn’t exactly tall, but he was broad, hefty, intimidating. Varga... He was just OK. 

He's smaller than Tuco, about the same height, but slim. Hector could remember how he looked at him, how he talked, trying to appear tough, but with those big, doe eyes, and that soft, small voice, he wasn't fooling anyone, not especially Hector.

He was certainly intelligent -- from the moment he opened his mouth to talk about how he and Tuco operate, Hector could tell that this kid knew his stuff. More impressive was the fact that he'd seemed to have grown operations to this level without much incident or getting the police involved. It certainly wasn’t the way Tuco would do it, as Hector knew him. And yet Tuco, for some reason, went along with it.

But Varga is no Tuco. He doesn’t have Tuco's aura, who commands authority at first glance.

He wonders how Varga even kept these dealers in line. From the looks of it, Tuco had let this kid walk all over him. Letting Tuco do all the heavy work of enforcing.

But as for his duties handling local distribution, Varga is good, Hector begrudgingly admits. It irritates Hector, seeing this kid do well, this puny, little punk that isn't even his own kin. But what can he do? He's too old to constantly be keeping Tuco in check. And good underlings, especially one this smart, are hard to come by. 

And besides, if Tuco finds out that his _Tio_ got rid of one of his boys, he’s going to throw a fit. Hector can just imagine the ensuing meltdown and the headache it’s going to cause.

So here is Hector now. 

Hector inhales, takes a sip of his coffee. 

The more he’s watching Varga, the more he’s irritated by him. 

_Like the way he looks, sitting there in front of him._ He looked small next to his nephews and Colon, but it’s more noticeable now with his back turned. He’s not skin and bones, but he’s small, narrow-shouldered. He has yet to see Varga put one of those dealers in place, but now he’s doubting whether he’s even capable of it.

Come to think of it, all those times when Hector and his crew were taking care of things, Varga was quick to volunteer for the easy stuff – picking up guys, keeping watch, delivering money. But when it came to the main event, Varga cowered behind him, like a little boy, while his nephews and Colon did the heavy lifting.

The front door swings open again, and another one comes in.

“Hola Don Hector,” the dealer greets, almost too cheerfully. “Hey Nacho.”

 _Or how he chooses his associates._ Hector and his family, they’d made it known that the Salamancas are the biggest, toughest, meanest guys in Michoacan and beyond. Everyone knows that you don’t fuck with the Salamancas. And yet this guy. How did Varga even allow this punk to move up? This scrawny guy looks more like a boy scout than a drug dealer. 

“Domingo,” Varga replies, as the dealer takes a seat.

The dealer slides his money over to Varga. 

“Got some new guys this week,” he says, leaning back, a self-satisfied smile on his face as Varga counts his money. “Got you covered ‘til next time.”

“Mm-hmm,” Varga nods, as he bundles up the money, tossing it in the bag. “Good.”

 _The way he talks._ God, it pisses Hector off. _Mierda_ , he sounds like a middle school kid Tuco picked out from a playground. Has his balls even dropped yet? 

The dealer should be leaving now, but instead, he sits a little longer. “Hey, uh, you think you can give me more next week?”

 _He’s pushing it_ , Hector thinks. It’s not his job to run distribution, and Hector’s expecting Varga to remind him of his place.

But Varga only replies, calmly, “We’ll see.” Which annoys Hector even more.

“Alright, cool.” The dealer stands up. “See you Nacho.”

“Yeah, see you Domingo.” 

Hector grits his teeth.

Hector was waiting for him to slip up, to have an excuse to take out his frustration on him, but it's almost the end of the day. It's irritating, but Varga hasn't done anything wrong, really. All of the transactions have gone smoothly, so there was no need to show some muscle. 

Hector is a ruthless man, but he knows better than to injure his subordinates for no good reason. Between putting up with a pussy subordinate and seeing Fring's smug face, when Hector's earnings falter yet again, Hector knows what he'd pick. 

_Gus Fring_. Just the thought of his smug face the last time they met enrages Hector. He’d paid him a little visit, in his chicken restaurant, to tell him that he was going to carry Hector’s product, since the DEA had disrupted his supply line.

But the nerve of that man, to treat Hector as if they were on the same level, when it’s Hector and his family who built this whole cartel business. _Did you ask Juan Bolsa? Did you ask Don Eladio?_ Bah. If it weren’t for the consequences, he would like to kick his stupid, arrogant head in. 

It’s been a couple minutes now, and no dealers have been coming in. In front of him, Varga’s looking at his watch. Then he stands up, picking up the bag of money. 

And then it hits him. The way he’s been acting, all quiet and calm. It almost reminds him of a certain... Chilean. 

Being a pussy is one thing, but having to be reminded of Fring all day... Hector tries to bury the image in his head, tries to forget that he even thought about it.

But the connection only serves to fuel the fire of his irritation.

Hector suddenly gets a wicked idea in his head. He knows better than to injure Varga, but if he's going to continue working for him, he needs to learn how to do things the way Hector knows best. So he's going to teach him a lesson. 

Following Varga, Hector stands up. Varga glances back at him. 

“Don Hector,” he says, turning to him, that annoyingly calm expression on his face again. “I’m just finishing up.” 

Hector waves his hand motioning him away, to pay Hector no mind.

Truth be told, Hector’s a little annoyed that Tuco didn’t bother to discipline his subordinate. Tuco knows very well how the Salamancas operate. And yet, from what Hector’s seen when he took over his nephew’s position, despite Tuco being the boss, it seems that Varga had been the one who had been calling the shots. 

When it should have never been that way. Tuco should have put his foot down and let Varga know who's in charge. Because right now, it seems that Varga's just doing whatever he wants -- and has been for some time now -- with no one showing him properly how it's done. So it's all up to Hector now. 

Unlike Tuco, Hector’s not a young man anymore. Gone are the days when he can lay a smackdown on punks who didn’t know their place. And Varga’s not a small child. It would be easy if he is, if Hector could just pull his ears or hit him with a belt, much as he used to discipline Tuco and Marco and Leonel, back in the days. 

But Hector has an idea.

Usually, the plan is to either use his gun or let Marco and Leonel deal with the problem. But both would be too heavy handed. As annoying as Varga is, he’s not insubordinate. All he needs is a little toughening up.

Hector walks behind him, as Varga continues to check the money in the bag, unaware of Hector’s plan.

Then, without warning, Hector reaches between his legs, and grabs.

Varga yelps, doubling over, crashing with a heavy thud into the table. 

Hector smirks. He almost thought he wouldn’t have anything down there, the little _puta_. 

Varga immediately reaches between his legs where Hector’s fingers are, trying to pry them off, but Hector holds on tight.

“Don... Hector...” he gasps, as he writhed in pain.

Hector ignores him. If he wants him to let go, he’s going to need to learn to fight harder than that.

Varga continues to flail beneath him, alternating between gasps and high-pitched keens. Hector shakes his head. A little pressure to his sensitive parts, and he can’t even overpower an old man. 

“Don Hector...” he begs again. “No... Please, stop...” He lets out a shaky groan, before dissolving again into incoherent gasps. 

The pathetic display only makes Hector tighten his grip. He leans over his ear. 

“Make me,” he says.

Varga continues to fight him, futilely. He seems to be getting weaker over the prolonged struggle. 

Hector impatiently waits. Varga’s going to pass out if he doesn’t do anything.

Then finally, his hand finds Hector’s wrist, and with his last strength, he squeezes. Hard.

At the last minute, Hector lets go of him.

That was close. If Varga had put any more force in, he could have broken Hector’s wrist.

 _Good_ , Hector thinks to himself. At least he’s assured that Varga is capable of using physical force if needed.

Varga is still bent over on the table, his breath heavy.

Hector looms over him, satisfied that he seems to have learned his lesson.

“Next time, you show some balls.”

With that, Hector struts towards the restaurant door, feeling lighthearted, hands in his pocket and a tune in his head. 

He sighs, shaking his head.

_The things he has to do for his nephew._


	2. The Second Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W for this chapter: Rape, homophobia

It's been a couple of collections now since that last time, and Hector's not entirely sure if Varga's learned his lesson. 

Hector hasn't been able to keep an eye on the kid all the time. He's been busy lately, what with the DEA getting all up over his business. While he'd ordered Fring to carry his product for the meantime, it's more because he was desperate, rather than him wanting it. He's still trying to find a more permanent solution, not involving the Chilean, so that he can win back Eladio's good graces.

So far, he's only been able to watch Varga when he's doing collections. 

And well, Varga may have done something, or maybe not.

He's been putting on the quiet act lately, him and the dealers. There’s certainly less blabbering than the first time Hector's watched him, which Hector can appreciate. But he's been quiet since Hector first knew him, and he's only gotten better at it now.

Still, Hector hasn't seen him assert himself. There hasn’t been an opportunity yet, what with everyone meeting their quotas.

So Hector continues to observe.

It’s the middle of the day, and they’re maybe half done.

It has been rather uneventful today, and Hector’s a bit bored. He’s gotten up and poured himself a new cup of coffee, now he’s made himself comfortable, half reading his paper, half listening to Varga interacting with the dealers.

Varga’s just about done with this guy. Payment is complete, as usual. The dealer bids them goodbye and heads out.

Now the next one.

“Hola Don Hector!” the dealer greets him, cheerful as ever. Then a more quiet, “Hey Nacho.”

It’s Mr. Boy Scout again, in his favorite green polo. What’s his name again? _Danilo, Diego…?_

Out of all the dealers, Hector probably likes him the least, but much to his dismay, he seems to be Varga’s favorite.

“Have a seat,” Varga offers him.

“How’s your dad?” Immediately after he sits down, he launches into idle chatter with Varga. Hector almost rolls his eyes. What, he thinks this is a house visit or something? He wants coffee, tea? Refreshments? 

He’s expecting Varga to shut this idiot up, to get things moving.

But Varga only replies, “Uh, fine.”

Which prompts the dealer to continue the conversation.

“Business good?”

“Yeah, I think so.” 

Hector is getting annoyed at their blabbering, he’s wondering when they’re going to move on to business.

"Cool."

“Alright,” Varga holds out his palm, expecting the money.

But the dealer doesn’t seem to take the hint. 

"Hey, my father's gonna bring in his Corolla. His dogs tore up the back seat. Like, ate the stuffing."

Varga is having none of it, snaps his fingers to get things going. 

Now it looks like the dealer’s handing over the money. Finally.

"So, um, one of my guys, new kid, got spooked by a cruiser and ran. Dumped his stash in the gutter."

"Let me finish."

By now, Hector knows what’s coming. He doesn’t like it.

"You're light," Varga says.

See, that is what Hector’s been thinking all along. 

He’s been willing to let Varga do it his way, as long as he’s bringing in the money, but Hector knows, all this coddling, acting buddy-buddy instead of outright making it known that you’re the boss, is just going to lead to undisciplined foot soldiers. Sooner or later, Hector has been expecting this to happen.

Then again, it’s finally his chance to see how Varga’s going to handle this kind of situation.

"Like I was saying, the guy--"

"Why didn't you make it up on your end?" Varga demands.

This is getting good. It seems that Varga _did_ learn something from that punishment several weeks ago.

"I did, but I couldn't make it all up. You got my share, man. I swear."

Hector is all ears at this point, holding his breath waiting to see what Varga's going to do.

"All right. Make it up, next week." 

Hector purses his lips, almost shakes his head. He was doing so well! Suddenly he decides to let this guy off easy? What the fuck is he thinking, giving this guy special treatment? Is this guy his butt buddy or something? 

"Thank you Nacho. Don Hector." Relieved, the dealer leaves quickly, almost runs out the door.

And Varga, it seems, isn’t going to do anything about it. Which pisses Hector off. 

“Who works for who, huh?” he snaps, reminding him, that if he doesn’t want a repeat of that last time, then he’s going to behave the way Hector wants him to. 

It takes a few seconds, but Varga finally stands up and runs after the guy.

_Mierda_ , even after that punishment, Hector still has to remind him to properly do his job.

The guy pleads for mercy, as Varga beats him up. 

He’s punishing him, but he’s still letting him off easy, to Hector’s annoyance. If it were up to Hector, he’d have shot the dealer the moment he found out he was light. Serves as a lesson for the other dealers as well.

But punishing erring dealers is Varga’s job, so Hector lets him do it his way. 

And even then, it seems Varga didn’t do it correctly. 

Not too long after that little “punishment”, if Hector can even call it that, when he stands up to refill his coffee again, the dealer is nowhere to be seen.

Hector doesn’t know exactly how much Varga beat him up. He didn't bother looking earlier, he's seen enough beatings in his life that it bores him. From the empty kitchen, the scattered equipment, and the remnants of blood on the floor, he knows Varga knocked him around at least, but clearly it wasn’t enough.

Hector is disgusted. 

He’d thought, smart as Varga is, that he’d already learned his lesson the first time.

Hector had thought that Varga was a pussy, but the similarities with Fring end there. But it seems, he’s more like Fring than Hector had expected. 

Not only is he a pussy, he acts like a fucking faggot, too, going easy on that dealer like he was his boyfriend or something.

If he’s going to act like a faggot, then Hector’s going to treat him like one. See how he likes it.

He reminds himself that it's not in his best interest to hurt Varga until collections are done. Hector almost couldn't hold it in, he couldn't wait to wipe that stupid smug expression off Varga's face once more. 

Then, just as Varga’s beginning to pack up, he gets his attention.

“Hey. Come here.”

Varga turns to look at him, his eyes going wide like he knows he did something wrong. _He damn better._

“Don Hector. I am so sorry--”

Hector, ignoring him, just calmly motions for him to come closer.

“--please understand, Domingo is--”

“Come here,” he repeats, speaking over him.

Varga shuts up and nervously walks towards him.

Hector eyes him. He’s trying to appear unaffected, but Hector could smell the fear off of him. Hector smirks, a small, tight-lipped smile, taking pleasure in the situation.

Cocking his head back, he orders him. 

“Hands on the table.”

For a split second, Varga’s eyes go wide, but he quickly regains his composure. “Don Hector, please,” he says, trying to stay calm. “I assure you this is not going to happen again.”

But Hector’s not buying it. “What, you deaf? I said, hands on the table.”

Varga pauses, inhales. Realizing that there’s no convincing Hector, he reluctantly places his hands on the edge of the table, as far away from his boss as possible.

Hector stands up, walks behind him, patting him down. He removes the gun tucked in his waistband, then pushes him face down so that he’s bent over the table.

“Don Hector...”

“Don’t move. Or I shoot you.”

Varga quickly gets the hint and shuts up. 

Other than Varga’s heavy breaths, the restaurant is silent. 

Hector reaches underneath him, feels the cold metal buckle of his belt, and unbuckles it with a clink.

Then he unbuttons Varga’s jeans, and pulls the zipper down. 

He hasn’t said a word so far, Hector can tell he is scared. Varga’s knees are shaking.

Hector grabs the back of his waistband and pulls, tugging both his underwear and pants down, revealing his behind.

Hector’s no faggot, but back when he was in San Quentin, he’d learned of ways to punish certain kinds of guys – snitches, guys who looked weak, acted effeminate. Bottom rung of the totem pole.

Looking back now, there was a lot of weird shit that went on, but it was prison. There were no women, and people were desperate. He is disgusted with some of the shit he did back then, but he was a young man, and he had needs. 

Hector’s out of prison now, and he’s no homo. There’s plenty of pretty _chicas_ to choose from out here. No way is he going to go back to sticking his dick in another man’s ass for sexual relief.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t have some fun. 

Hector points the gun at Varga’s back, dragging the barrel down slowly until it reaches his asshole. Feeling the cold metal against his skin, Varga trembles. Hector cocks the gun with a click. The sound makes Varga whimper, terrified.

Hector laughs. _What a little bitch._

“Don’t move,” Hector repeats. Tucking the gun in his pocket, he walks casually to the front of the restaurant, putting up the “Closed” sign. 

Then he heads back to the kitchen to get some supplies.

It’s a good thing that the manager had run off earlier. One less thing to clean up, and because of that, Hector has free reign of the place.

Hector smiles, seeing all the tools around him. Seeing some of the stuff they used back when he was in prison brings back old memories. Back in prison, you had to get creative. With a little modification, everyday tools became implements for torture. 

Of course, he’s not planning to hurt Varga too much, he's too valuable to waste like that. He's just going to give him a little taste of what happens to faggots in this business. Just enough to make him think more carefully before displeasing Hector again. 

He runs his hand across the handle of a broom. A favorite back in prison. He remembers how they’d carve up the handle to make it feel real for those faggots. Hector thought it was so funny, how those homos would start crying when all he was doing was giving them exactly what they wanted. 

He holds the broom up, feeling the weight in his hands, before deciding against it. Varga is going to bleed too much if he hurts him like that. And besides, Hector’s not a young man anymore. The broom is too bulky to carry.

He eyes some of the smaller items in the kitchen. Beer cans? _Too thick._ Soda bottles? _Hmm, maybe._

Then on the counter, he sees an open, half-empty wine bottle. He grabs it, feeling the narrow neck which tapered gradually into the thick body. Dumping the contents into the sink, he smirks to himself. _Yes, this will do._

He leisurely strolls back into the restaurant, with his acquired tool. 

Hector smirks, seeing Varga hasn’t moved an inch. He looks so funny like that, bent over like a little bitch, his naked ass exposed to the world. 

He places a hand on his upper back, dragging his palm down as he moves behind him. Varga’s body stiffens at the touch.

“Relax!” He reassures him. Getting no response, he taps him on the back to get his attention.

“Look here,” he says, grinning as he waves the empty bottle.

He does, but instead of being happy, he looks grim, taking the time to plead to Hector again.

“Don Hector, please don’t do this. I still have pickups tomorrow.”

Well, it’s not like Hector’s going to hurt him too much. 

Ignoring him, Hector pushes his head back into the table again. These faggots whine too much, when Hector’s already kind enough to give them what they want. 

Using his free hand, Hector parts his ass cheeks, resting the tip of the bottle on his hole. 

Despite Hector’s reassurance, Varga still seems nervous. He’s shaking, small whimpers escaping his throat, as Hector adjusts the lip of the bottle into his opening. 

“Quiet,” Hector barks. He can’t concentrate with this fucking faggot’s snivelling.

He waits a bit, until Varga seems to have calmed down, the little whimpers turning into slow, steady breaths.

Then, in one swift motion, Hector shoves the bottle in.

Varga screams.

Hector continues to push the bottle in, slow and careful, as to not cause too much damage. He gets it in deep, until it’s about halfway in, just short of the thickest part.

As the intrusion continues, the scream subsides into groans of pain. 

Hector works up a steady rhythm, shoving the bottle in and out as much as Varga could handle it. With each thrust, he gets in deeper and deeper. 

On one particularly careless thrust, he draws blood. He sees a bit of dark red fluid, coating the neck of the bottle, as he pulls it out. He wasn’t planning on it, but it makes the job easier. 

Hector goes on for a while, until he’s feeling bored. 

Other than the little noises he was making earlier, Varga’s being remarkably quiet. A lot of the guys, they’re already full on sobbing at this point. Or they’ve shit or pissed themselves in fear. Maybe even both. 

Sure, Hector punishes him, to toughen him up, and teach him how to be a proper Salamanca enforcer.

But he’s not going to lie. He also wants to be entertained. He knows that Varga is a pussy, and that sooner or later, he’s going to cry once Hector pushes him hard enough. 

But he’s not getting the reaction he wants. Impatient, Hector decides to peek under him. 

And seeing it, Hector just laughs. 

The faggot is dripping all over the floor. 

Not the first time Hector’s seen such a reaction, but it was so fucking funny.

Seeing his tiny limp dick out, clear, sticky fluid like a thick thread hanging from the tip. 

He wasn’t crying because he was enjoying it, the little faggot.

“You like this, huh?” Hector whispers maliciously into his ear.

Varga shakes his head, trying to deny it.

Seeing his reaction just fuels Hector to give it to him even harder, each jab drawing out louder, anguished cries.

Hector continues, until he notices that Varga isn’t resisting anymore. He’s just lying there, face down, not moving, not making a sound. He must have passed out. 

Hector nudges him. 

“Hey.”

Getting no reaction, he shakes him awake. Varga turns his head, tired and bleary-eyed.

“Tomorrow, you take six,” Hector commands.

Varga nods, before collapsing onto the table once more.

Hector pulls up his subordinate’s pants and touches him again, on the shoulder, a reassuring tap. 

_Nothing personal_ , he meant to say. 

He leaves the bottle and the gun on the table behind him.

He's not scared that Varga's going to retaliate. Why should he be? Varga knows who Hector Salamanca is, and what his family is capable of doing. If he’s anywhere near as smart as Hector figures him out to be, then he should know better than to fuck with Hector and his family.

And besides, what is he going to do? Tell on him? They both know what happened. What, he planning to admit to everyone that he's a fucking homo?

Hector can admit, though, that the situation is getting interesting. 

Two times now, and Varga had been surprisingly tough throughout both ordeals, more so than Hector thought he was capable of. He didn’t quite learn his lesson the first time, but Hector was pleased that he didn’t run away, at least, and stuck it out. And while there was some whining this time, at the end, he was still standing, and there were no tears, no shitting or pissing himself. 

He didn’t expect it, but as pussy as Varga was when he first met him, it seems like he can still be molded towards Hector’s ideals.

Now the true test is whether or not he will follow Hector’s instructions tomorrow.

And if he does, Hector would like to know Fring’s reaction, once Hector asserts his dominance.

Yeah, maybe there’s a chance that Varga will get hurt, but who cares about that?

It’s a win-win situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Next chapter will be a break from evil Hector's perspective. As always, please leave a comment or kudos if you liked it!


	3. Nacho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W: Mentions of rape

The cartel is the cartel, and work is work.

That's what Nacho often tells himself, when he's had a particularly tough day, fulfilling his duties for the Salamancas.

He finds himself later that night working in his father's upholstery shop, as usual. 

After what happened earlier, he thought he wouldn't be able to. If not physically, then mentally.

Surprisingly, he had been okay. He was able to drive back home. After that, he took a long shower and changed. Then he headed to the upholstery shop. 

His car seat and pants were fine, but he had to throw out his underwear. It's not like it was soiled that bad -- he could have washed it, but he didn't want to risk his dad stumbling upon the evidence. And it's not like he wanted to wear it again, either.

But other than that, he feels... Nothing. 

Like nothing happened earlier, and it's business as usual.

He supposes that it should be expected. After all, he had been working towards this, hasn’t he? 

He had learned early on, that to survive in this business, he had to learn to manage his emotions.

And yeah, maybe he was – and still is – being too idealistic when he started working in the drug business, thinking that as much as violence is a part of the game, that maybe he can avoid the worst of it. As long as people act reasonably and cooperate, then nobody has to get hurt, right?

Still, as much as he strives for harmony, he had learned, especially as Tuco’s lieutenant, that certain things in the business are simply out of his control. 

Not everything bad that happens is his fault. 

Crying and feeling guilty over every single little thing that goes wrong does nothing. If he couldn't control his emotions, and it somehow gets into Tuco's head that he's defying him, or if his dad finds out that he's in the cartel again, it's going to be even worse for him. If he cried for every single innocent victim that the Salamancas killed, for all the injustice that they perpetrated, he'd be dead himself. 

That's not to say that he's discarded his empathy and all sense of morality. Instead, he works on things that he can control.

Back when Tuco was around, he had plans. He knew that he and Tuco didn’t agree all the time, so he had his side business, which he wanted to operate in a more careful manner. Eventually, he was thinking of maybe even moving on to something more legitimate, once he had the money.

In the meantime, while he was still Tuco’s business partner, he tried his best to convince him to not engage in senseless violence. But sometimes, it did happen. When it did, he tried to remind himself, that it was Tuco’s doing, and it _was_ Tuco’s doing, and he did what he could to stop him. 

What happens in the cartel are things he can't completely control, so he does his best not to take every little thing to heart.

Even then, it hadn't been all that easy. Sometimes, when he's in the shower, when he's laying in bed at night, his thoughts wander, and he tries to soothe himself, with promises that he's not going to be in the cartel forever, and when he gets his money, he's going to stop. He thinks of his family – his dad, _Tia_ Rosa, their family in Galeana-- and how they need him, and the money he’s funneling through his dad’s upholstery shop. He thinks of what’s going to happen to them, should the Salamancas ever discover that he’s working behind their backs.

Hard as it is, he tries not to dwell on his feelings. He tries to remind himself, that what happens in the cartel doesn’t change anything – he’s still the same person, with the same goals, and even if he’s a criminal now, it’s not like he’ll always be, and whatever it is that's going on right now, he just has to endure it to survive. 

But today had been easy. Even after he beat his childhood friend to an inch of his life for nothing, even after Hector did what he did to him.

Callousness has its place in the cartel. When he's not out there, when he's by himself, with his father, when he's working at the upholstery shop, he allows himself to feel normally again.

And yet, right now, he doesn’t feel strongly about the events that transpired either way. He doesn’t feel the urge to cry. He doesn’t feel rage at Hector. He doesn’t feel terrified of what’s going to happen now. He just feels... Empty.

Like he’s floating. Like he’s existing in the moment and he’s out of it, both at once.

He keeps on replaying the events in his head, to see if he’d feel something about it. 

It started when he was beating Domingo up.

He didn’t want to, but he knew he had to. If he didn’t do it, then Hector was going to take matters into his own hands, and it’s going to be bad, both for Domingo and himself.

He remembers trying to keep his emotions out of it. He was trying not to think too much -- he was just doing his job. 

Nacho’s no stranger to violence, but his role had been different back when Tuco was around. Strangely enough, having Tuco around allowed him to avoid getting his hands dirty most of the time. Because of Tuco’s reputation, he was able to get away with intimidation and threats, without having to make good on them. When it came time to deliver the punishment, Tuco was all too eager to do it himself.

Of course, he’d participated sometimes, but only when it was really needed. Mostly, he contributes in other ways, usually in business-related matters, and Tuco respects that. It’s enough that he lets Nacho go about his own way. 

Nacho knows that he’s no Tuco. He doesn’t _want_ to be Tuco.

But now that Tuco’s gone, he has no choice. Hector wants more from him.

To actually _be_ Tuco? To be the one who mercilessly beats people up?

It was difficult.

He remembers the pleading look on Domingo’s face. The way he begged and screamed. And how there was so much blood. 

He can recall feeling something in those moments, but when thinking about it now, he feels calm. Like he’s watching a film he’s seen so many times, it doesn’t affect him anymore. 

He feels guilty that he feels so calm. He remembers the time when Dog got murdered, and he couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about it. Wasn't it only a few months ago, when he was talking about Dog to Mike, and even though it's been years already, recalling the memory still sickened him? And it’s not like he was the one who pulled the trigger on Dog.

This is Domingo, whom he’s known since they were little kids. And there’s no Tuco to blame here. This was all on him. Nacho was the one who hurt him. 

And yet there's nothing.

And maybe it’s because of what happened after that, but it makes no sense at all.

Any way he looks at it, what happened after that was terrible. And it happened to him. And yet he can recall the sequence of events without even flinching. He can replay the event over and over in his head, in clear detail, and still, he feels nothing about it. It almost feels unreal, like maybe he just imagined the whole thing.

Hector made him bend over his table, he pulled down his pants. He used a green wine bottle.

As to what he felt at that time, he can remember that it was a mixture of shock and fear. He knew Hector wasn’t joking when he threatened to shoot him. He’d seen what Hector did to that Good Samaritan. And he’d been on the receiving end of Hector’s punishment once already. 

He didn’t expect that he’d be that scared, to the point that he couldn’t move. He remembers just being frozen, his mind going blank, and he was unable to move or fight back. His body just went limp as Hector did whatever he pleased. 

It wasn’t really painful. It hurt when Hector first pushed the bottle in, but after that, it didn’t hurt as much. It was more uncomfortable than anything.

He can recall small details. The scent of newspaper as he was pushed face down on it. The empty coffee cup to his right, set perilously close to the edge of the table, and how it shook every time he was rocked against the table. 

He can’t recall exactly how long it lasted. He was drifting in and out of consciousness while it happened. He remembers thinking how he just wanted it to be over, thinking about how he still had to work at the upholstery shop later that night.

At some point, much to his confusion, he had wet himself.

Hector was laughing at him.

Then some time after that, he passed out. 

_And then... And then..._

A heavy weight on his shoulder.

His first instinct is to feel disgust. 

“Have you seen the black cowhide?”

_Oh._ It’s his dad. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice. 

"Um, in the back, Papa,” he finds himself answering, like someone else is controlling his mouth. “On the top shelf." Mostly, he wants the hand on his shoulder to stop touching him. 

His dad just nods, and starts to walk away.

“Um...” 

He suddenly feels the urge to say something. 

He so desperately wants to tell his dad what happened. Right now, he feels so confused and disoriented, but his dad always knows what to do, right? 

_“Papa, I was...”_

But different words come out of his mouth.

"Next to the red suede," he hears himself say.

And then he catches himself. What the hell is he thinking? 

Telling Dad means getting him involved, not just in his own personal problems, but in cartel business as well. And Dad doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve to shoulder any of this burden that Nacho's feeling right now. 

It's his own damn fault. He’s the one who chose to join the cartel, knowing full well the consequences of his actions. Whatever bad happens to him, he brought it on himself. 

He feels ashamed that he’s thinking so selfishly.

It always has to be about him, right? Why does he think that he's the victim here, when he's hurt so many more?

He tries to gather himself again, tries to focus on his work.

Whatever his feelings are about what happened, he can think about them later. What’s important now, is this car seat that’s part of a job order due this week. 

And so he sews.

And yet.

He can’t stop thinking about it.

Domingo.

_“Nacho, no! I’m sorry!”_

Don Hector.

_Hector did something to him._

The radio blares, the commentator cheerfully goads him on. 

_Beat him up! Beat him up! BEAT! HIM! UP!_

**“QUIET, QUIET!”**

A heavy weight on his shoulder, on his back, touching him, suffocating him. He’s screaming but no sound is coming out.

**_“You like this, huh?”_ **

Laughter. Laughter everywhere.

_“--please, don’t do this--”_

Hector’s sneering face.

The sewing machine feels like a jackhammer pounding, pounding in his head.

_No, it doesn’t hurt down there._ _He’s not supposed to hurt down there. He’s a man, how can this happen to him?_

He's floating, and all around him are bright lights and loud sounds, drowning out the moving pictures in his head.

And then.

Nothing.

When he opens his eyes, he sees his hand.

It seems like his hand had caught on to the sewing machine.

He extracts the needle carefully. Blood oozes from the wound. 

It doesn’t hurt. Not at all. 

Like something is not registering in his brain that his hand is connected to his body. 

He worries.

What is happening to him? Why does he not feel anything?

Is he not sorry at all for what he did to Domingo? And what about Hector? Shouldn't he be raging at him?

This isn't him. This isn't like him to not feel anything at all.

It's like he swallowed a big ball of emotions that he can't get out.

He wants to be angry and frustrated and punch a wall and cry and cry and cry, and yet he can't.

There’s nothing there.

It’s like a huge part of him was ripped away. 

It’s like something happened, overnight. Something in him changed without him noticing. 

He doesn't feel like himself, and he's terrified of that. 

What should he do?

What’s going to happen now?

Someway, somehow he has to make sense of what’s happening. He needs to do something about it. And soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! 
> 
> It's all downhill from here...


	4. The Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W: Homophobia

“So?”

“I took the five, and then one more.”

It’s been a day since Hector last disciplined Varga, and now he’s sitting here in the empty El Michoacano with his men, checking in on what’s the status with Fring, and whether the lesson he taught his subordinate paid off or not. 

And from what Varga’s telling him, it seems like it did. 

He’s very happy that Varga had carried out his plans. It seems like Varga is responding well to this kind of discipline. 

“What'd he say?” Hector gleefully asks. “Did he piss himself?” 

“No, he wasn't there,” Varga replies. “It was just his guys.”

“So, what happened?” Hector prods.

“They called him,” Varga explains. “And while we were waiting to see what he'd say one of the guys put a gun to my head.”

Varga looks unamused. Bothered even.

“They put a gun to your head?” Hector is indignant. The nerve of that chicken man, to threaten one of his men. 

“Mm-hmm,” Varga nods, seemingly still shaken by the incident.

“It was no big deal,” Colon waves him off. 

Suddenly, a cellphone rings. Colon checks his pocket.

“Leonel?” He confirms with Hector.

“Go outside,” Hector orders. “See what he found out.”

Hector is pleased with Varga’s progress so far. When he first met him, he acted like a sissy faggot, much like Fring. Hector thought he’d always be that way, but he is tougher than he expected. When Hector punishes him, instead of just whining and crying about it, he takes steps to correct his behavior.

He’s shown that he can be bold, when needed. But he’s not there yet. He’s not yet Hector’s perfect Salamanca enforcer. Being the big man means getting threatened sometimes, but he has to learn to take it in stride, not act like a little pussy bitch every time someone waves a gun. 

As Hector’s working closely with the lower rungs of the organization, he’s been learning about Varga. One thing he’s heard from his nephews and Colon and yes, Varga’s little boyfriend made mention of it too – Varga, during his off-time, works in an upholstery shop that his father owns.

Hector likes this kid’s effort and commitment. He’s shown what he’s capable of, but now Hector wants to take it one step further. 

Transporting supply has been a big problem lately, and Hector still hasn't found a better solution other than using the Chilean. But maybe, Varga can help him out in some way. 

Surely, if he is in any way serious about his commitment to the Salamancas, then he wouldn't deny his boss this one small thing, wouldn't he? 

So Hector proposes his idea.

“So, your father...” Hector pries. “His shop... Where does he get his upholstery?”

Varga pauses, seemingly hesitant, before answering.

“From the distributor.”

“And where is the distributor?” Hector asks.

Varga takes his time to answer again. 

“Jalisco.”

Ah, perfect. Not Michoacan, but close. The DEA may have busted his ice cream business front, but Varga’s father’s upholstery business looks to be a good replacement.

“I want a new way to get my stuff over the border,” Hector explains. “A legitimate business.”

“Right, but the chicken man--” 

“Temporary!” Hector stresses. “I want a new front, my own.”

“Don Hector,” Varga looks at him, pleading. “My father is a simple man. He is not in the business.”

“You will teach him,” Hector replies matter-of-factly.

“Don Hector, please--” 

Is that arguing that Hector hears? Why is he resisting so much? This is a good deal, both for the Salamancas and Varga’s family as well.

“Don't worry, I'll take good care of papi,” he says, trying to reassure the kid. “He'll make money. A lot more than with his little sewing machine.”

They don’t finish the conversation. As soon as Hector utters those words, Colon bursts in.

“Leonel talked to our guy in Los Lunas. Looks like Tuco knifed a guy. But he definitely broke a guard's jaw. They got him in solitary.”

Hearing the terrible news, Hector sees red. 

“What? All he had to do was six months! He'll be in there forever!”

All that trouble getting Tuco off, and he just throws it away? His stupid, stupid nephew! 

Hector takes out his anger on the table in front of him. 

He knocks over everything. The glass bottles, the tissue holder. He knocks over the table itself. He rages and throws a fit, until his chest tightens and he can’t breathe. 

He reaches for his pills, and trembling, he takes one from the bottle.

He almost forgets about Varga, until his henchman approaches him. Hector’s not really in a mood to discuss the matter further, what with the news about Tuco.

“You talk to your father,” Hector orders him, leaving him alone as he walks out of the restaurant.

Whatever reluctance he might be feeling, he better forget about it. He is going to do it.

* * *

Varga is acting like an idiot today.

First, he can’t tell a real bill from a fake, and now, he’s dropping and scattering bills all over the place.

“I’m so sorry, Don Hector,” Varga apologizes.

Hector shakes his head, as Varga crouches down beside him, picking up all the shit he scattered.

Hector doesn't know whether he's acting stupid on purpose or not. It’s a really hot day, and even Hector is distracted. But Varga should already know by now that Hector won’t hesitate to punish him if he displeases him in anyway. 

Come to think of it, he hasn't really laid a hand on Varga since that last time. There hasn’t really been a reason to, though. Varga has been behaving well since his last punishment. 

But thinking about it now, the last time, he was definitely giving Hector mixed signals. Telling Hector to stop, while clearly getting off it? 

Maybe he’s missing the attention. 

That last punishment may have worked too well, and now he’s misbehaving in the hope that Hector will “punish” him again.

Hector hopes not. He doesn’t want another Gus Fring in his hands. It makes his skin crawl, just thinking about it.

As Hector’s doing his paperwork, he listens in on Varga, tries to confirm his suspicions.

_“...Took care of that problem over on Fifth. That crew won't bother us no mo--"_

_"Can you do me a favor? Shut up."_

Huh. He seems fine to Hector. 

He ignores Varga for the meantime, as he tries to concentrate on his own work. Maybe he was just imagining it, what with all this heat and all. 

"Don Hector, more espresso?"

 _Or not._ Now, he’s sucking up to him. 

_He really seems to want it, huh_ , Hector thinks to himself. 

He'd like to give Varga some special attention again later, make sure that he’s completely nipped any faggot tendencies in the bud. Varga can be pretty funny at times. Hector would like to see him squeal and cry for a bit. But it's so hot today, and he’s not really in the mood. 

Maybe some other time.

* * *

If it were up to Hector, he wouldn't be even in this place right now. 

It certainly isn't his idea of a good time, to be stuck in this warehouse having to look at Fring's annoying mug.

Bolsa arranged for this special meeting. _A meeting that he couldn't even be bothered to attend in person_ , Hector bitterly thinks.

Hector thinks that this is all a massive waste of time. There's nothing to discuss, really. No big issues, no changes. No huge progress with fixing his supply line so far.

So he's wondering, exactly, why Bolsa's so insistent in getting them all gathered up. 

_Any minute now_ , he thinks, as he fiddles with his lighter.

And then the cellphone on the table rings. His henchman answers it, sets the phone to loud speaker.

"What's so important?" Hector asks.

Bolsa's voice echoes through the warehouse.

_"Had a conversation with our friend by the pool. He's very pleased with our progress. He feels our consolidated transportation method is working..."_

Hector feels the pit of his stomach sink. Surely, he's not going to say it, is he? 

_"In fact it works so well... that our friend says this will be the only way, moving forward... Everything moves through the Chilean."_

Hector couldn't believe his ears. Bolsa and Eladio, what the hell are they thinking? All these years working together, and suddenly, they're just going to entrust everything to the Chilean? They aren't even going to give Hector another chance?

He glares at Fring. Looking all smug, mocking him. He’s probably rejoicing inside, laughing as Hector is humiliated. 

_"Can you hear me?"_

Hector throws down the cellphone in disgust.

"I hear you," he growls, glaring contemptuously at Fring.

"Don Hector, I never asked for this," Fring says, trying to play innocent. "I do not want it."

Fucking Fring. Stupid, arrogant, idiotic, piece of shit Chilean. Waltzing into the cartel with not an ounce of respect for the man who started it all. Taking away everything that Hector’s worked so hard for. 

Hector feels white hot rage course through him. He’s going to strangle that fucking bastard Chilean with his bare hands.

And then his chest tightens. He’s coughing and he can’t breathe. One of his men rushes to his aid and he shoves him away, as he reaches for his pill bottle, hastily grabbing it and bringing it to his mouth. 

As he slowly regains his breath, he eyes his sworn enemy with utmost contempt. 

With what little breath he has, he curses him.

_"Fuck Eladio. Fuck Bolsa. And fuck you!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some exposition in this one (and some minor edits in the previous chapters.) The conclusion is coming up soon, stay tuned!
> 
> If you're liking the story so far, please do leave a comment or kudos. Thanks so much for reading!


	5. The Last Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W: Rape, homophobia

After that disastrous call with Juan Bolsa – where he was thoroughly humiliated in front of Fring, of all people – Hector decided that he could wait no longer. 

Him and Bolsa and Eladio, after all they had been through together, those two were just going to throw him under the bus like that? Bolsa didn't even bother to show his face for the meeting. And him and Eladio, they didn't even give Hector a chance to fix his supply line. Instead, they show favoritism to that outsider Fring.

Well, fuck them. Fuck all of them. 

If they aren’t going to give Hector a chance, then he's just going to have to take matters into his own hands. 

So, not long after the meeting, Hector, along with his henchmen, heads to Varga’s father’s upholstery shop.

Varga directs him to this shop on the corner of Florida Street and Zuni Road. 

It doesn’t look like a huge business, but it looks decent, at least, for what Hector wants to do. There’s a few cars lined up in front. It seems to have some customers at least.

Varga leads the way into the shop, into what seems to be the working area.

It’s a dark, cramped space, supplies and equipment piled haphazardly all over the place, workers crammed together in what little space available.

"Okay, so we're gonna do everything around back,” his subordinate says, as they walk into the shop. “It's mostly commercial around here, so it's quiet at night. Pull the trucks up to the doors, unload right into the shop.” He gestures into an empty corner of the shop. “We can break down the stuff in here. There's space in the back for storing scales and supplies when the shop's open.”

Varga turns to look at them. “Should be able to process everything overnight,” he says. “I'll be here to see it gets done right."

It looks good. Very good. Hector can work with this. But there’s something missing.

“Where's Papi?” Hector asks, looking around.

“I'll be taking care of all this,” Varga says. “But he's... good.”

The way Varga said it, it sounds like he’s not very sure. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Hector’s here to talk to the man himself. So while Varga continues to talk about arrangements, Hector looks around.

And then Hector spots him. Standing in a corner, hiding from all the action. 

“Here's Papi!” he gleefully exclaims, as he walks towards him, henchmen in tow.

He enters what appears to be the shop’s front. Varga, following closely behind him, stops to introduce him to his father. 

"Don Hector, this is my father, Manuel,” Varga says, in Spanish. “Papa, Don Hector Salamanca."

Hector’s expecting Varga’s father to be rejoicing right now, that he’s meeting the man who’s going to help him make something of this place, make him rich. But he doesn’t look happy at all. 

He must be nervous. After all, Varga said that he’s never been involved in the cartel. No matter. Hector’s going to win him over. Hector’s going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.

“Relax!” Hector says, smiling. “We're friends.”

Despite his reassurance, Varga’s father still looks all too serious.

But Hector gets it. Varga's father is a businessman, after all.

Winking, Hector pulls out a wad of cash, counts out several hundred dollars, placing them neatly in several piles on the counter. 

"Better?" he asks, with a flourish. Hector is confident that Varga’s father will accept his generous offer, the first of many to come.

But he’s just staring at Hector, looking unamused. 

Then finally, he speaks.

"Please. Get out of my store," he snarls. 

Hector is shocked. He’s acted so respectful and kind to this man, and yet he responds with such insolence? How dare him, to treat Hector as if he was some kind of stray animal who wandered into his shop. Does he not know who Hector Salamanca is? He feels the urge to pull out his gun, to teach this man a lesson and put him in his place.

But before Hector has a chance to do so, Varga butts in.

"Papa, please. Don Hector is being very generous. Don't be disrespectful."

His father doesn’t budge. Hector can feel his temper flaring. What the hell is happening? Didn’t he tell Varga to talk to his father before they even came to his shop?

Now Varga’s whispering something to his father. 

Whatever Varga said, it somehow convinced his father to take the money. But the damage is already done. 

No way is Hector going to work with such a disrespectful man, who dares to humiliate him after Hector had treated him with such kindness.

Hector turns to leave, with Colon at his heels.

He’s already outside, when Varga runs after him.

"He's old-fashioned,” Varga explains. “He'll come around."

Whatever. Hector made up his mind already about his father.

"Don Hector?" Varga prods.

Hector ignores him.

“I'll talk to him,” he reassures Hector, conviction in his face. “He'll come around.”

“I don't trust him,” Hector simply replies.

Hector gets into the driver’s seat of his car, as Colon takes the passenger seat. 

He wasn’t sure if Varga changed his mind about coming, but after some hesitation, Varga gets into the backseat.

They’re going back to El Michoacano, where Colon and Varga left their cars.

Hector is seething with quiet fury as he drives. First the cartel disrespects him, and now, a no-name shop owner? 

Not only that, but he’s back to square one, with no means of transporting his product outside of that bastard Chilean.

He’s trying to think of something, a different solution, but he’s too angry to focus. 

As Hector checks the rear-view mirror, he catches a glimpse of Varga in the backseat. He’s quiet, looking pensive.

The sight of Varga’s stupid face almost makes Hector lose it. 

This is all Varga’s fault. Hector told him to convince his father, weeks before today’s visit. And what does that idiot do? Not only does he fail to convince his father, he lies to Hector that everything’s fine. 

And for that, Hector gets nothing, but humiliation and disrespect. 

After all that Hector had done for him. He should be thankful that Hector took the time to teach him, instead of offing him the moment Hector was dissatisfied with his performance.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his father. 

When they get back to the restaurant, he's going to make him pay. Yes, today would be a good day to teach him another lesson. 

Hector smiles, just thinking about it. 

All the times Hector had taken measures to correct Varga's behavior, he feels he had never been able to break him completely. He'd beg and yell, while Hector punished him. But after that, he's back to his calm and collected self.

But when it comes to his father, he’s acted more defensive and resistant. 

Now that Hector knows how important Varga’s father is to him, he’s at the mercy of Hector’s whims. 

Hector can do practically anything he wants to him, and Varga can’t do anything about it, not as long as Hector holds his father’s life over his head. It’s the perfect chance to break him, ensure that he knows his place. 

If he ends up crying to his father, then all the better. That will teach them both a lesson, not to fuck with Hector again.

They arrive at the restaurant, and Colon bids him farewell.

Hector turns towards Varga.

“You,” he points a finger at him. “Stay.” 

Varga holds his breath, doesn’t say anything.

Hector enters the restaurant, putting up the “Closed” sign, before heading towards his seat at the back. 

The manager, seeing Hector walk in, immediately gets the hint and takes off. 

Good. Hector’s in no mood to clean up after any witnesses after what he’s planning to do with Varga.

Hector pulls out a chair from under the table, positioning it so that it faces towards the door, and sits.

Varga stands in front of him, hands crossed over his front, looking anxious. 

Hector raises his head to address him, a slight smirk on his face. 

“You want to explain yourself?” he asks.

“Don Hector, please,” he quietly pleads. “This is all a big misunderstanding. I talked to my father, as you said. I thought we had an agreement. I don’t know what got into him this morning. Please. Just... Let me talk to him again. I’ll make it up this time.”

Hector likes seeing Varga like this, all worked up and desperate. Not so calm anymore, huh? 

Honestly, Hector has made his mind up already, and no amount of begging is going to dissuade him from his plan. 

But Hector enjoys seeing him like this, so he humors him. “So? How you plan to make it up?”

“I’ll convince my dad,” he says with certainty. “Please, Don Hector. This isn’t the first time this happened. I’ll make it work this time, I swear.”

“You’ll convince your dad,” Hector repeats, then pauses. “That it?”

“Please. It’s my fault, not my dad’s.”

There he goes, begging again. This is all too easy. He’s practically asking Hector to hurt him, just so he can save his dad. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna do anything to Papi.”

Varga’s face visibly relaxes for a moment, to Hector’s amusement.

“But you say you gonna make it up,” Hector continues. “You make it up to me right now.”

He frowns. “I’m not sure I understand--”

“Come on, you remember last time. You liked it, didn’t you?” Hector smirks.

His eyes go wide, panic setting on his face. “Don Hector, I’m not--”

“Don’t deny it! We do something you like!”

“Please, Don Hector. Please... Don’t do this,” his voice trembles, as he continues to beg. “I’ll make it up some other way. I promise.”

Hector shakes his head. “I want you to do as I say. Now, get down on your knees.”

Varga doesn’t move. Instead, he just stands there, quiet, his head bent down. 

Hector waits. He knows that Varga has no choice but to obey. He can’t fight Hector now, what with everyone knowing that Hector is alone with him. If anything happens to his boss, everyone will know that it was him who did it. 

“Come on,” Hector pushes him. “We don’t have all day.”

He still doesn’t respond. 

Hector is getting impatient, and decides to press him harder. “What, you want me to blow Papi’s head off?”

It takes a while, but finally, he speaks. “Please,” he begs again, almost a whisper, his head bowed. “I don’t want to do this.”

Hector almost rolls his eyes. What does he need to say to make him understand that no amount of begging is going to change his mind? So Hector spells it out for him, clearer. “I call my nephews, they put a bullet in Papi’s head right now,” he says. “Now, you gonna get down on your knees or not?”

Finally, he gets it. After a few moments, Varga hesitantly lowers himself down to a kneeling position. 

“Good boy,” Hector says, smirking, as he unbuckles his belt and unzips. 

Varga is sitting back on his heels, head still bent down, trying to avoid looking at him. 

Hector untucks himself, gives himself a few strokes. “Come closer,” he beckons.

Varga is still trying to avoid his gaze, but he obediently inches closer, so that he’s between Hector’s legs. 

“Look here,” Hector commands, as he continues to stroke himself. 

Varga takes a deep breath, before slowly raising his head. 

Hector almost laughs, seeing the expression on his face. Eyes wide, almost like he’s about to cry. He looks terrified of what’s going to happen next.

Holding his half-hard dick out, he orders him. “Put it in your mouth.”

Varga inhales again, closes his eyes. Gripping Hector’s thighs to stabilize himself, he leans in and opens his mouth to take Hector’s cock in. 

Upon the intrusion, Varga immediately starts to gag. Hector holds his head steady, making sure he stays put. 

He continues to struggle for a bit, coughing and gagging, but Hector holds him in place. 

After a while, he calms down. He holds still, looking up at Hector, a pitiful expression on his face.

“What?” Hector snaps. “You know what to do. Do it, or I make you.”

Hector’s urging gets him to move. He bobs his head up and down clumsily, not quite taking the whole of Hector’s cock into his mouth. 

Hector lets him continue for a bit, see if maybe he’s just warming up. But he maintains that same half-assed pace. It’s not in any way a good blow job, and Hector’s getting impatient. Rolling his eyes, he grabs the back of Varga’s head, and pushes him down, forcing him to take the full length into his mouth. 

Varga gags and coughs again, but Hector keeps his grip. The sound of Varga struggling gets Hector even harder.

Hector impassively watches as Varga continues to choke. He holds him down for a while, watching him cough and drool all over his cock. It doesn’t look like he’ll get used to it, soon, so after a while, Hector lets him go, right before he ends up throwing up on Hector’s cock. 

Varga pulls back, coughing, and looks up to him, eyes watering, face red. 

“Do it better this time,” Hector orders.

Varga meekly nods. He gets back on Hector’s dick, but he’s putting in more effort this time, fitting as much as he could into his mouth while stroking the rest of Hector’s length. 

It’s getting good, really good. He’s a fast learner, Hector is grateful for that, or maybe he was just feigning ignorance earlier. 

Watching him do it right now, compared to earlier, it’s like night and day. 

He’s calmed down from earlier, no longer gagging on Hector’s cock. 

From the way he’s lavishing Hector’s cock with attention, the wet, warm suction of his mouth, the way he’s swirling his tongue all over his length, it doesn’t feel like it’s his first time. The way he’s glancing at him every now and then, with those half-lidded eyes, those long lashes. Hector could swear he’s trying to seduce him, no doubt wanting more. 

He’s amused at his effort, but no dice. Hector’s no fag, that’s certain. 

Hector wonders how many men he’s been with already. Maybe he does this on the regular with that dealer boyfriend of his. Hector can see it, him getting down on his knees, pleasuring the other man with his mouth, an excuse to keep him motivated. Maybe he does this for Tuco too, that's why his nephew likes him so much. He'd have to have a serious talk with Tuco then, if that's the case. 

Or hell, maybe it’s not just those two. Maybe for the little slut, any cock will do. It seems like it. It looks like he’s really enjoying this, slurping all over Hector’s cock. 

Hector chuckles to himself. _What a faggot._

Hector’s getting close, but he’d like to see the little homo do one more thing for his amusement.

“Wait a second,” he says, pushing Varga off his cock.

Varga sits back, looking up to him, confused.

“Why don’t you show me how much you like this?” Hector asks, with a smile.

He frowns. “I don’t understand--”

“You know what I mean,” Hector gestures. “Take it out. Touch yourself.”

“No, it’s alright,” he mumbles. “I’m good.”

“Come on,” Hector urges him. “Don’t be shy.”

“Please,” he continues, trying to stay calm. “It’s fine. I’ll... finish getting you off.”

Hector isn’t satisfied with his response. “Is that a no I hear?” He reaches for his phone inside his pocket, an implicit threat.

“No, please wait,” he interrupts.

Hector stops, smirks. This is getting good.

Varga takes a deep inhale, then pauses, lowering his head. 

After a few moments, Varga starts to unbuckle himself. Closing his eyes, he pulls out his dick, and begins jerking himself off.

Hector laughs. 

He says he doesn’t want to, but his body doesn’t lie. Just a few strokes and he’s hard already. 

He’s really getting into it, eyes closed, panting and breathing heavily as he tugged at his dick with short, rapid strokes. His dick is fully erect now, heavy and engorged, head drooling with precum that spilled onto his fingers with each stroke. Occasionally, he’d pause, slow down, run his fingers across the tip, his mouth parting in a quiet gasp as he gets his palm slick, making an obscene squelch as he ran his hand back down his shaft.

For someone so hesitant a while ago, he sure is putting on a good show. 

“You like this?” Hector asks, derisively. “You having fun?”

He doesn’t seem to have heard Hector, continuing his little session without any acknowledgement of the other person in the room.

“Hey,” Hector says, louder. “Answer me.”

He pauses, opens his eyes, looks up to Hector with those dark eyes, pupils blown out. He nods.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I like it,” he says, quietly, voice trembling. “I like sucking your dick.”

Hector laughs. “Come here and finish what you started.”

For a moment, he takes his hand off his dick, but Hector stops him. 

“No, keep doing that,” Hector says.

He does, and then he’s sucking Hector off again.

Making him play with his dick was a good idea. It feels better this way, Hector can feel the vibration through his mouth, with every little noise he inadvertently makes as he touches himself. 

And seeing Varga like this, on his knees, pitiful and broken and humiliated, just heightens his pleasure. He feels the rush of power going straight to his cock. 

As Hector feels himself getting closer, he runs his fingers across Varga’s cheek, and tilts his chin up, getting a good look at his face, and forcing his subordinate to meet his gaze. Varga looks annoying most of the time, but right now he looks good like this, with his furrowed brows, his sad, defeated eyes, his pink lips wrapped around Hector's cock. 

Hector covers his nose, and pinches it shut, and then he's gasping. Hector takes the opportunity to shove his cock deeper down his throat. 

And then he’s coming. 

Varga tries to pull back, but Hector grips his jaw and holds his nose shut, forcing him to swallow Hector’s load completely.

Varga struggles for a bit, then he goes slack, and Hector releases him. 

He coughs once, twice, drool hanging down from his mouth.

Hector tucks himself back in and zips himself back up. All the while, Varga hasn’t moved, sitting on the floor on his heels, head bent down, avoiding Hector’s gaze. 

Hector stands, and the movement makes Varga raise his head. He looks up to him, those big, brown eyes glistening like he’s about to cry, then quickly averts his gaze. 

He supposes his anger got the best of him, maybe. But he doesn’t regret it, not one bit. If Varga hates being treated like a little bitch, then he should do better next time. 

Let this be a lesson to him.

* * *

Hector’s already back at home when his cellphone rings.

“It’s me,” the voice on the other line says.

 _Bolsa_. About time he called. 

“I apologize for not being there last time,” Bolsa continues. “Meet me tonight, outside the old garage. We have something important to discuss.”

"Fine," Hector replies, then ends the call.

He doesn’t know what Bolsa’s going to say, but he better apologize and make this whole situation with distribution and Fring right. 

He dials Colon, tells him to meet him tonight, to prepare and bring some backup. 

He considers calling Varga, but maybe with today’s events, he’s a bit worn out. He decides to leave it up to Colon then, bring whomever he thinks should go.

It’s all been very stressful lately, with the DEA, and Fring, and his broken supply line. But with Bolsa now wanting to talk to him personally, things are starting to look up. 

He’s looking forward to the events to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading!
> 
> This is the first fic I've ever uploaded on this site, so to everyone who has left kudos/commented/bookmarked/subscribed, thank you so much! Your support inspires me to keep writing. :) 
> 
> There might be a continuation of this fic, regarding the aftermath from Nacho's perspective. Not sure when, or whether I'll even be able to finish it, but I'm working on it.
> 
> If you've liked this fic, please do leave a comment or kudos. I would love to know what you think!
> 
> BTW, if anyone wants to talk more, you may message me on Tumblr, my username is hawksbeards


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